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But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.

John Masefield

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John Masefield
Age: 88 †
Born: 1878
Born: June 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 12
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
County of Herefordshire
John Edward Masefield
Spirit
Somewhere
Ever
Memory
Among
Nation
Memories
Venturing
Morning
Veneration
Nations
Radiant
Gone
Spirits

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And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
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Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.
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I hold that when a person dies / His soul returns again to earth / Arrayed in some new flesh disguise / Another mother gives him birth / With sturdier limbs and brighter brain.
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
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The days that make us happy make us wise
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Each one could be a Jesus mild, Each one has been a little child, A little child with laughing look, A lovely white unwritten book A book that God will take, my friend, As each goes out at journey's end.
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Love is a flame to burn out human wills, Love is a flame to set the will on fire, Love is a flame to cheat men into mire.
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State are not made, nor patched they grow Grow slow through centuries of pain, And grow correctly in the main But only grow by certain laws, Of certain bits in certain jaws.
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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.
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Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.
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I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain.
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
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The Lord who gave us Earth and Heaven Takes that as thanks for all He's given. The book he lent is given back All blotted red and smutted black.
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All the great things of life are swiftly done, Creation, death, and love the double gate. However much we dawdle in the sun We have to hurry at the touch of Fate.
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I have seen flowers come in stony places And kind things done by men with ugly faces, And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races, So I trust, too.
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